Hail to the King
by Blitzqueen
Summary: Haphazard must collect the severed heads of mechs and femmes so that his damaged brother may rise once more; and the Hunters who have been after the three beast-brothers are in for more than they bargained for... [DISCONTINUED until September! Updates will only come September-November.]
1. Part 1

**Author's Note:** This story stars Blitzwing; but, rather than having three personalities, I have turned Random, Hothead, and Icy into brothers. Because their names are not dark-aged enough, Random has become Haphazard, the Helmless Horseman; Hothead has become Firebrand, the werewolf; and Icy has become Polar, vampire and King of the Night Terrors.

 **Disclaimer:** Although I REAALLLLLYY wish it, I do not own Transformers...

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Thud—thud—thud! _Heavy hooves thunder over the ground as the younglings run for their lives. Two sets of young, innocent optics—one set blue, and the other gold—are widened with sheer terror as the massive beast comes closer—closer—closer with each pounding step. Eerie, unsettling black fog seems to rise right out of the ground, making it difficult for the young Cybertronians to run without tripping with an inability to see the ground before them._

 _They had not believed it! They had thought the stories were myth, and set out to prove their beliefs right that night-cycle! But when they saw the towering black-plated mount with optics that glowed as bright as the Energon of its rider's victims, they knew they were poorly mistaken._

 _And… The rider… A tall mech with dark armor and a long, billowing coat rumored to have been weaved from his victim's Energon from within the Pit itself—and no helm. But, even without optics, the younglings could feel his stare boring into their very sparks as they stood before him, frozen with fear. The rider held up five digits, and then four as he folded his thumb in—three, then the younglings had run._

 _Behind them, the horse brays, gradually picking up his speed. Gradually getting closer… The taller of the younglings turns as the headless rider and his steed come into view. "Run, run!" he urges, focusing ahead once more._

 _One—two—three—four; the younglings are able to count each step that the mighty steed takes, hear grunt from its maw as it draws nearer. Coolant streaks the younglings' faceplates—so this was it? An angered_ spirit _would be their end?_

 _Two screams, a spatter of Energon, then utter silence. The horseman guides his mount to turn back around now that they are past the younglings, and the metal horse slowly trots back toward their now-grounded frames. With the_ thud _of heavy metal pedes, the rider dismounts from his steed. A sharp-edged ax is held within one of his dactylas, the fresh, blue Energon upon its edge glowing eerily within the darkness._

 _The headless mech completely bypasses his victims' frames, and instead takes a knee where their severed helms had landed, and stuffing them both into an old, burlap sack at the horse's saddle, as it had followed its rider and now bows its broad head to him._

 _Without so much as a sound, the horseman moves back onto the dark charger's back. The mighty steed rears, and the black fog disperses as horse and rider disappear into the night._

 _~.~.~_

 _"Two more victims have been discovered within Altihex's outskirts! Something must be done to bring this serial killer down!" A large fist fiercely strikes the rounded table that five others are seated at._

 _"What is the commonality between all of the murders?" A femme questions, digits interlocked and resting upon the table as she speaks calmly. "All of them have had their helms severed, yes? Have any of their helms been_ found _?"_

 _"No; out of all seventeen victims, not a single helm has been discovered at or near the murder-sights. That is the disturbing part about these offlinings…" states another mech, shaking his helm and rubbing the area between his optics. "But," he adds, "they have all been quite young—unmated."_

 _"So the killer is hunting… Virgins..?"_

 _"It is possible that he's hunting for someone?"_

 _The femme to have spoken stands to her pedes, motioning for silence. "Is it possible we did not destroy the King as we believed? His kind requires virgin-blood, and_ only _virgin-blood, to be repaired—maybe our ,Helmless Horseman' has been doing these killings for the King?"_

 _Silence fills the room, the six Hunters glancing cautiously between each other as this is said. If that was so, could they lure this horseman out by using one of their own..?_

 _"I am unmated," the femme continues, as if knowing the others' thoughts, "and have never interfaced with another. If this is the case, then I am willing to act as bait to draw out our Horseman…"_

 _~.~.~_

Clop—clop—clop. _The massive steed slowly trots into the dilapidated building that the Horseman resided in with two others. As he enters, he dismounts and removes the sack from his horse's flank, before the steed trots away, melting into the shadows that dance upon the walls. Low growls soon echo throughout the room, and a wolf-mech begins to circle the Horseman. "Haphazard, goot," the werewolf greets, nodding his broad head. "He es fading. Did jou get anozzer helm?"_

 _By way of answer, the helmless mech opens the sack, and draws out both younglings' severed heads, tossing one to the beige-plated wolf who catches it within large paws._

~Ve need only vone more, brozzer.~ _The voice seems to vibrate through the still air; coming from nowhere, yet everywhere at the same time._ ~If I find vone more, zen Polar may again rise to his pedes…~

 _"Unt ze creatures uff darkness may take ofer," the wolf finishes with a glance to his taller comrade, a small smirk crossing his maw and exposing his fangs—including one in the center of the top set of fangs that appears to be missing._

 _Without another word between either creature, they move through darkened halls with alarmingly silent pedesteps; each mech holding one of the younglings' helms. Both severed heads have mouths wide open in a permanent scream, and optics that had faded to black when the Cybertronian's heads went flying from their frame with the aid of a sharp ax, and the momentum of a shadow-steed. They enter a candlelit room slowly, approaching a casket that rests upon a sturdy metal berth._

 _The figure within has his lip-plates pulled into a twisted snarl of pain that reveals two long, sharp top fangs, and one of his dactylas grips at his chest, where a cable is hooked, feeding him the Energon of the Horseman's victims that would heal him from grievous wounds inflicted by the accursed Hunters._

 _"He vas schpeaking earlier into ze night-cycle, shortly after jou left to hunt—his vounds vill be fully healed soon." The werewolf places the severed helm within his jaws after speaking, and slowly begins circling the berth on all fours, looking over it carefully, before stopping in front of a bowl that the Horseman sets upon the floor that had been previously been placed on a table. A sickening crunch echoes throughout the room as the wolf-mech crushes the helm within his jaws, allowing for the Energon to run into the bowl beneath him, and then taking the other from his comrade, and doing the same._

 _The blood from the severed helms nearly fills the bowl once the wolf finishes his work. The Horseman moves to his side and picks up the bowl easily—his stained ax held at his hip—and stands over the damaged King. The Energon is carefully poured into a machine that the cable hooked to the other's chest is attached to, not a drop spilled._ ~Tomorrow, brozzer, I vill find a final victim, unt jou may rise again…~ _The eerie voice once more echoes throughout the room as the headless rider places one firm dactylin over the resting mech's shoulder, squeezing it gently, before stepping back once more._ ~Firebrand, vatch ze main entrance; vis sixteen unt sefenteen victims haffing been claimed tonight, ze Hunters vill be vorking to find us. Ve cannot allow zis to happen until our King avakens…~


	2. Part 2

**Author's Note:** This Chapter is mostly just to give some information as to why\how Polar and Firebrand were turned; Haphazard's story will not come until later.

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers or Blitzwing, but his TFP and monster designs, as well as this story, were created by me.

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" _Find him, and bring him down!"_

 _"There are two fragging problems with that order,_ Sir _!"_

 _"And_ what _, dare I ask, is_ that _?!"_

 _"One: We can't fragging track a shadow-mount such as what he rides! Two: We don't know_ how _to take him down!"_

 _"_ Enough _!" the femme orders, stomping her ped upon the ground sharply, and pointing an accusing digit to each of the bickering mechs in turn. "Right now, our biggest problem is that our two top-ranked Hunters—mechs entrusted to keep the Night Terrors from taking over—are biting each other's helms off over a simple little argument!"_

 _"Foxchase' is co'ect—you two a'e being just as bad as those we a'e ent'usted to hunt…" A young mech steps forward, his gold optics radiating brightly and his voice soft, timid; clearly a new addition to the Hunters' ranks. His armor, unlike the other five around him, is unmarked by beast-battles that the others had faced time and time again; his pale faceplate holds a youthful innocence, cuing to an age far less than the others—yet, in his bright optics, there is a hungry defiance, a silent scream for revenge to be taken on the creatures he now hunted._

 _Both bickering mechs drop their gazes to floor—the youngest is correct… "Then let us continue with the plan," the slightly shorter of the two finally states as he clasps his dactylas behind his back as the others gather once more._

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Tick—tick—tick. _Sharp, metal claws click over the ground as the wolf-mech paces to-and-fro with his tail lashing, fangs bared, and optics hidden behind a visor glinting brightly with agitation. Every so often, Firebrand whimpers and gives a shake of his broad head, ears flapping with the movement, and jaws snapping fiercely together. They needed to fill only one more bowl with the blood-Energon of the innocent—but, their eldest brother was still fading. If Haphazard did not find a final victim by the end of the next night-cycle, then Polar would offline—and for good, this time._

 _Another set of pedesteps soon echo through the room, along with a chilling air that seemed to follow Haphazard wherever he set ped._ ~Jou are uneasy, brozzer,~ _the Horseman notes as he seats himself upon a metal bench against one wall, his voice vibrating through the air around him._ ~I vill find a final victim—I haff not failed since brozzer Polar brought me back, yah?~

 _The werewolf, with tail falling limply between his legs, bows his head and approaches the youngest of the beast-brothers on all fours, whining and whimpering like a frightened pup. He rubs his cheek-plating against Haphazard's arm, nudging at one dactylin until it moves onto his long, scarred snout. "I vill admit zat I'm frightened, Haphazard. I failed to protect jou vonce; I failed to protect Polar, unt he vas nearly destroyed. Fazzer entrusted me to protect jou bose." The wolf suddenly growls, snapping his fangs and clawing at the floor beneath him with one massive front paw. "I failed to protect efen myself, unt look vhere ve all are!"_

~Hush now, brozzer; jou did vhat jou could—jou can't blame jourself for vhat happened to us.~ _The Horseman's firm dactylin gently strokes the older werewolf's helm in a calming manner._

 _"But jou're a Phantom, 'Hazard! Polar—"_

~I am avare uff vhat's transpired, brozzer. I ask zat jou schtop blaming jourself for zose happenings.~ _Large paws find their way onto the Horseman's lap, and a broad head rests itself on those paws whilst the wolf-mech's beige tail curls around his back paws, the tip twitching slightly._ ~Jou act like a big, bad volf—but jou're just a leetle puppy trying to protect his family from a far bigger sreat zan he can handle, brozzer.~

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"Vhat are ve efen _doing_ out here at zis time, Firebrand? Ve haff a schtrict curfew—Fazzer vill not be pleased vis us…"

"Scaredy-bot! Come ze frag on! I—"

"Langvage—"

"…—heard somesing out here!" The mech grips his smaller yet older brother's wrist tightly, dragging him on through the alleys with little trouble due to size differences. "Polar! Schtop being fragging difficult!"

"Langvage! Unt I don't vant to follow vhateffer false fantasy jou're after…"

The juvenile mechs trudge on through the black night—Polar eventually giving in to his brother's wishes with an irritated grunt. "Fazzer von't be happy vis us, Firebrand," Polar reminds, glancing over one shoulder, whilst his violet wings twitch with unease, "unt remember ze _last_ time jou took me on vone uff jour… ,Expeditions'?"

At that last statement, Firebrand's own wings droop slightly, and veiled optics fall to his pedes. "I remember…" he murmurs, turning around to look at his elder brother's unnatural left optic—Polar had been jumped because Firebrand ran too far ahead and could not hear his sibling's cries until the damage was already done. When he had nothing to give to the mech who went after him, he was stabbed, right in the optic—Firebrand always did feel guilty for that… "Let's get home before Fazzer figures out ve left—or until 'Hazard decides to tattle like ze leetle mech he es."

"Yah, agreed…"

"Going so soon?" a velvet voice purrs, bright red optics glowering down at the young mechs as the speaker enters the alley. The younger of the siblings moves between Polar and the stranger, his engine rumbling low in warning and violet wings pinning back in aggression. But the stranger simply advances; his frame tall, elegant—clearly that of a Seeker. Or… _Former_ Seeker…

"N-Night Terror…" Polar murmurs softly as lights shining from the buildings around them glint off of the mech's chest-plating, and the brilliant white, proudly displayed insignia upon it. As the figure advances closer to the young mechs, he laughs—and exposes his long, sharp top fangs with this action.

"Vampire…" The words are but a whisper from Firebrand, his optics dimming from beneath his visor. "Polar… Run… _Run, fragget!_ "

In moments, the brothers move at a sprint; optics wide, younger brother gripping his elder's wrist and dragging him on. Now, granted, Polar has more speed than his larger, more bulkily-built younger brother—but he is clumsy, especially when he got nervous. And now, the only thing keeping him on his pedes is Firebrand's firm hold on his arm.

"Tsk, tsk… Ha-ha! Foolish sparklings… Don't you know my kind loves a good hunt?"

Though the young Cybertronians run their hardest, the Night Terror is far faster, and easily gains with a rich, sweet-sounding laugh that slices through the night like a sharp blade. Firebrand feels his brother get yanked from his grasp, and can only freeze in his tracks at the circuit-chilling scream that follows—but the sound is only half the problem. The image itself… The Vampire-mech holds Polar in a headlock, and his sharp fangs biting deep into his brother's neck. A small trickle of Energon runs from the puncture wounds inflicted by the Terror's fangs, and Polar's bright gold optics dim slightly with each moment that passes. What could Firebrand do to help the situation..?

Almost as if in answer to his questions, claws can be heard clicking over the ground, along with a wolf's growl. "Fragging Vamp!" A massive, silver-plated wolf lifts her nose from the ground and sets bright red optics on the mech—who, in response, simply laughs and drops the barely-conscious frame of the older youngling. "I _knew_ I smelled you! I could scent you from the other side of my fragging territory! I've warned you too many Unicron-slagged times to stay off _my_ land!"

It is, with that statement ended, that the wolf-beast lunges for the ,trespasser' without much fanfare. Firebrand, taking this chance, rushes to Polar's side with a panicked expression across his faceplate. "Polar! Polar! D… Do jou hear me..?" The older mech groans, but gives a nod of his helm so slight that, had Firebrand not been paying attention, he would have missed it. "Goot, goot…" he murmurs as he lowers his growling-toned voice, carefully slipping one arm under his brother's helm to support it. "Schtay avake, Polar, schtay avake…"

An audio-splitting shriek of metal sounds as the Werewolf is thrown backward, narrowly missing the siblings as she slides over the ground next to them, before getting back to her paws. Bright red optics meet Firebrand's blue ones veiled by a golden visor, and she gives a low growl at the youngling. "Hunting my prey as well, I see…" When the larger of the siblings holds his free dactylin in front of Polar protectively, the wolf simply snaps threateningly as him, before turning back to the Vampire. A slight stinging sensation is left on Firebrand's palm, but he ignores it as he scoops his brother up into his arms with little difficulty due to Polar's lighter weight.

Firebrand shifts his older brother against his chest, cursing as he is forced to angle Polar's wings strangely in order to hold him securely with one arm under Polar's legs, and the other around his shoulders. Bright, veiled optics meet barely radiating, mismatched ones—Polar's Energon levels are low; the vital substance nearly depleted from his systems. It had not even been very long; a few clicks at most before the Werewolf made her appearance…

Firebrand glances toward the Night Terror and unaligned wolf—tearing each other apart for their…prey… Distracted. No longer even paying attention to them…

The larger brother takes off at the fasted sprint he can manage. Every so often, he jerks his brother's shoulders slightly and orders Polar to remain wakeful with a stern voice. "Schtay avake… Ve're almost zere, Polar—just keep jour optic open a leetle longer…"

There! Firebrand can see their home just across the street! His vents are deep, heavy, pulling cool air in to cool his systems, and pushing the hot outward as he sprints.

But as soon as he is touching the keycode to the door with the back of his dactylin, he cries out at the burning sensation that courses through it. He turns it over as it shakes slightly, looking to his palm where the Werewolf's fangs had grazed it, and the wound is now black and burned. He glances down to his brother still held in his arms, and Polar's single optic is now wide, the bite marks upon his neck also burned. The Wards engraved into the door begin glowing brightly, before the pneumatic door itself opens with a _hiss_.

A large mech with beige armor and massive, gently curved wings held proudly upon his back stands in the doorway with a gun pointed level with Firebrand's faceplate. "F-Fazzer…" he murmurs, wings and helm lowering slightly whilst he draws his rapidly fading brother closer to his chest. "I'm sorry, Fazzer… I made him follow me again…"

"Firebrand..? Polar..?" The mech lowers his weapon while his bright blue optics dim slightly. "Vere… Eizer uff jou bit..?" His gaze remains upon the barely conscious of the two siblings, optics taking in the now-burned punctures upon his neck. The old mech's wings slowly droop from upon his back, and he takes aim one more—this time, leveling his gun with Polar's helm.

"No! Fazzer, please, don't do zis…" Firebrand turns his frame slightly, better protecting his brother. Low growls begin to emit from his frame—but they no longer sound like those from his tank engine. They are throatier, more…feral… More…animalistic…

The mech's wings droop further from upon his back and, as he shifts his stance to again take aim at the younger brother, the light from inside glinting off of the red insignia upon each of his shoulders: The Hunter insignia. He had been trained to take down the Night Terrors and unaligned beasts that roamed the night—and lived by a Code of Service. And one of those codes…

His sons had both been bitten, and now it was his duty to see to their offlinings—personally. His optics gain a hollow, empty look; his digit hovers over the trigger, and his blue optics meet Firebrand's visor as a sadness befalls his expression. Pedesteps from behind cause the mech to stop and lower the gun slightly, and glance over one broad shoulder. "Daddy..? A-are brozzers back yet? I hear voices…" The voice is young—a sparkling's higher-pitched, innocent vocalizations.

"No, Haphazard—zey haff yet to return. Go back to jour room; zese are…friends, going to search for Polar unt Firebrand." The sparkling is small—not even reaching the old mech's knees; his faceplate pale silver—almost white—and a pair of optics identical in color and shape to their sire's. He lugs a toy turbofox behind him; the doll scraping softly at the floor as its tail drags with each forward step taken. "Haphazard, back to jour room." The mech's voice becomes sterner as the sparkling's steps come closer and closer to the doorway; the siblings' sire also forced to hide the gun behind his leg.

The mechling rubs his optics a bit, then stops in his tracks, a smile spreading across his lip-plates. "Ze _are_ back!" He drops the turbofox toy and runs forward, only to let out a yelp as the Hunter picks him up and holds the sparkling close to his chest.

Those next moments are filled with confusion from the sparkling, fear from the older siblings, and a deep, aching sadness from their sire. He…had not believed he would need to do this again; let alone with his own children. But a job was a job—no matter how much it shattered one's already broken spark. The old mech's Energon-blue optics close; Haphazard screams, the trigger is pulled, and the larger brother cries out.

When their sire opens his optics once more, Firebrand is gone with his elder brother; nothing but a small puddle of Energon and a piece of the younger mech's wing upon the ground indicating where he had been standing moments ago.

.~.~.

Firebrand's wing aches, but he pays it no attention—Polar's condition is far worse than his own. He had entered an old, abandoned building in a run-down area of Kalis; and now, he kneels over his smaller brother's freezing frame, holding the older mech close to his chest, trying to warm Polar by letting the heated air of his chassis be angled down upon his brother with slight shifts of his armor. They could not go anywhere to get the mech repaired and an Energon line in him—he would be offlined as soon as he set ped in a medical ward if those bites were seen.

"F…F-Fire…brand..? I-I need…En-nergon…" The voice is hushed, barely audible, whilst nearly offline optics look up.

"Vonce jour frame varms a bit, I'll go find jou some, all right?" When Polar simply nods and allows his optic to close once more, Firebrand's wings droop downward a bit. That is a lie… Polar's frame would not warm; his systems were failing, and there is not enough Energon in his lines to be able to circulate correctly to not only keep his frame at a better temperature, but also to keep his spark beating strongly…

He…he cannot do anything… Polar was going to offline, and Firebrand knows it would be his fault. Always the rule-breaker, always the one trying to take charge; the one most likely to stick up for his brothers, but also the one most likely to snap and shout at them…

For the longest time, the only sound within that dark room are shallow vents and a soft scraping of metal as Polar curls closer to his younger brother's warmer frame and shifting armor as his plates try to draw closer to his rapidly cooling protoform. Firebrand's wings remain low upon his back, and he finally breaks the silence with words so gentle for the short-tempered brother. "Polar, jou need rest. Let jour syschtems put jou into recharge…"

He knows that his brother would not survive the night-cycle through—but if he fell into recharge, his offlining would come quickly, and he would not need to die slowly as he is now. When a slow nod answers him, the younger mech bows his helm slightly and closes his optics, waiting without a sound to feel their sibling-bond broken as Polar's spark extinguished, just as the creator-offspring bond had been broken when their carrier fell offline shortly after Haphazard's was removed from her spark-chamber and placed into a protoform.

That feeling comes sooner than expected. Firebrand leans forward slightly, one dactylin moving to clutch at his chest as he cries out. Bright blue optics hidden under a yellow visor open wide as coolant runs from their corners from the pain and sorrow that washes over his spark when Polar's frame goes limp in his arms.

"I'm sorry, brozzer…"

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 **AN:** Oops, I made a cliffhanger. ;P


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